BGS 5+5: Shane Pendergast

Artist: Shane Pendergast
Hometown: Corran Ban, Prince Edward Island, Canada
Latest Album: Winter Grace

Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?

I’ve really spent a lot of time studying the music of Gordon Lightfoot. From his lyrics to his intricate melodies to his fingerstyle picking, I keep coming back to him for inspiration. He was able to create strong music over a long period of time. I admire his work ethic.

What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?

Al Tuck told me, “Stay humble, stay serene, keep instigating.”

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?

I live on a small island where the ocean is always close by. Whether it’s the rhythm of the waves or the salt in the air, I think it impacts my songwriting. I’m always thinking about how location impacts arts and culture. In terms of storytelling through song, I find myself writing a lot about things like fishing, rum-running, and the romance and ferality of the sea.

What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?

I really enjoy songs from old musicals such as The Sound of Music, Fiddler on the Roof and Oklahoma! There’s something about the playfulness and grand production of the songs that I can’t resist. Before I die I’d like to perform in a musical. Guess I’ll have to work on my dancing…

Since food and music go so well together, what is your dream pairing of a meal and a musician?

Maybe eating PEI oysters with Stan Rogers. If my uncle, chef Robert Pendergast, was doing the shucking it would turn into a great kitchen party.


Photo Credit: Justin Rix

It’s a Great Time for Roots Music on Broadway

Utter the phrase “Broadway musical” and most folks are likely to assume you’re referring to the jazz-hands-inspiring works of Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein; the emotionally manipulative drama of Andrew Lloyd Weber; or the inventive playfulness of Steven Sondheim. But folk and roots music have a long legacy on the great white way — and a bit of a folk boom has been happening in those storied theaters lately.

Granted, Broadway producers have long presented shows that pull in the music of roots-informed artists. Folk-pop singer-songwriter Duncan Sheik delivered a stunning musical score for the groundbreaking Spring Awakening, cementing the careers of Broadway stars Lea Michelle and Jonathan Groff back in 2006. Let’s not forget brief runs of musicals that pulled from the catalogs of Dolly Parton (2009’s stage adaptation of 9 to 5) and Bob Dylan (Girl from the North Country, which debuted in 2020).

Of the shows currently occupying midtown theaters, Anaïs Mitchell’s Hadestown has run the longest, having just passed its five-year mark. With eight Tony Awards from its 2019 debut, the musical pairs the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice with that of Hades and Persephone. Though its original cast has scattered to other projects, beloved folksinger Ani DiFranco spent a bit of her winter and spring this year offering a stunning run as Persephone.

Ani DiFranco and Anaïs Mitchell outside the Walter Kerr Theater in New York City. Photo by Matthew Murphy.

Fans may know DiFranco trained for many years as a dancer, even as she was building her singer-songwriter street cred. She proves to be a triple threat in the role, embodying the storied arbiter of summertime with a deeply rooted, empathic swagger. And though her June 30 departure feels like the end of an era for the musical, her latest album Unprecedented Sh!t (released May 17 on Righteous Babe Records) charts some new sonic territory via her political POVs.

Further, it’s hard to mourn DiFranco moving on when it was recently announced that British country favorite Yola will replace her in the role of Persephone, beginning July 2.

Hadestown was briefly joined last year by fellow roots musical Shucked, which came and went too soon. Awash in silly corn puns and Tampa-centric storyline, its earworm score was penned by Nashville mainstays — and Grammy darlings — Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally.

Last month, Illinoise opened at the St. James Theater on 44th St. Pulling tracks from Sufjan Stevens’s sprawling, ambitious 2006 album of the same name, the show reorders the songs to depict a group of friends sharing stories around a campfire. There is no dialogue. Instead, a 12-piece band and a trio of vocalists in magical butterfly wings perform the music in the background.

Upstage, Illinoise tells its stories through exquisite choreography that runs the gambit from lyrical contemporary to hip-hop, some sweet Broadway jazz, and even one number (“Jacksonville”) with a lightning-fast tapper in pinstripes. Dancers touch on love and loss, fear and transcendence.

“Zombies” becomes a scene about the immigrant experience, as dancer Jeanette Delgado (“Jo”) tries to outrun the ghosts of America’s founders, whose complex legacies still haunt the present day. “The Man of Metropolis” becomes a comical superhero-themed character romp. And former Billy Elliot star Ben Cook (“Carl”) delivers a heartbreaking and inspired series in Act II to track an emotionally complex love triangle.

By show’s end, there is a pervasive sense of the opportunity art grants us to transcend our selves and build a better world together. It’s no wonder the show was nominated for four Tony Awards, including Best Musical. If it wins, it will be the first time a dance musical has won the prestigious award.

The Outsiders, meanwhile, is running now just one block away, at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theater. It sets to music the novel by S.E. Hinton, which was immortalized in a 1980s film by Francis Ford Coppola. Produced in part by Angelina Jolie, with a book by New York theater fixture Adam Rapp (Wolf in the River, The Sound Outside) and music by Americana mainstays Jamestown Revival, this musical version unfortunately doesn’t measure up to the other two roots musicals in the neighborhood.

Granted, perhaps it doesn’t have to. The Broadway League and American Theater Wing don’t seem to be anything less than impressed, having nominated the musical for a whopping 12 Tonys this year. It may not translate seamlessly to the Broadway stage, but The Outsiders is a story that has been beloved by numerous generations. It was a treat to witness members of Generation Alpha giddy with excitement to take in the narrative arc of Ponyboy and the other Curtis brothers — a story that feels to this writer as though it’s rooted in Gen X sensibilities, despite being set in the 1960s.

Choreography by Rick and Jeff Kuperman was athletic and stunning — plenty of leaps and jumps and long, denim-clad legs spinning in the air like human helicopters. The Kuperman brothers’ martial arts background comes through even beyond the inventive dance-fight scenes. There is water on the stage, somehow, and it splashes up from time to time, for some reason. It doesn’t matter why. The effect is properly dramatic.

Brent Comer, who plays “Darryl,” steals the show with his powerful Zac Brown-reminiscent twang. He has some of the most compelling solos, embodying the exhaustion of a stay-at-home-mom as he folds clothes and laments his lot in life, “somewhere between brother and father” since their parents died. Jason Schmidt as “Sodapop” matched his rootsy musicality with the second-act heart grabber, “Throw in the Towel.”

But it is Joshua Boone’s “Dallas” who is perhaps the show’s greatest revelation, with his Bill Withers-esque vocals on solos like “Little Brother.” Brody Grant as Ponyboy seemed a bit lacking during the matinee performance this writer recently caught, but it could have been an off moment. Eight shows a week requires almost superhuman amounts of energy reserve.

Or perhaps it was a side effect of Grant being in his 20s while his character is supposed to be 14. Indeed, despite the electricity of The Outsiders’ score and choreography, the script doesn’t feel as authentic as its emotional realities demand. Hinton’s book offered readers a revolutionary view of teen struggles, written by a teenager. Perhaps the Broadway show should have brought in some teenagers to consult.

Regardless, both Grant and Boone were nominated for Tonys (as was Sky Lakota-Lynch, who delivers a haunting performance as Johnny). For folks just interested in what Jamestown Revival did for the show’s score, an Original Broadway Cast Recording is available now.

All told, there is no indication Broadway is going to break its love affair with roots music anytime soon. The Avett Brothers are set to make their Broadway debut with shipwreck-themed musical Swept Away this fall. The show has previewed in California and Washington, D.C., and has received critical praise already. Swept Away’s score is drawn from the Avetts’ 2004 album, Mignonette, plus four other songs from their canon — a treat for the band’s incredibly loyal fanbase and Broadway subscribers alike.

Further on the horizon is an adaptation of the classic labor movement-inspired film Norma Rae, with music by Rosanne Cash. In an email, her manager indicated a possible 2025 opening. One can only hope. And, just last week, Dolly Parton announced an upcoming original musicalHello, I’m Dolly, set to arrive on Broadway in 2026.


The 77th Tony Awards will be held on Sunday, June 16, 2024 and will air on CBS. Find out how to watch here.

Playbill images courtesy of Playbill.com

‘Miss You Like Hell’ Explores Folk Music in Theater

For the past 20 years, I’ve been working in the folk and roots music world in one way or another, and all the while I’ve been fascinated by the slow creep of folk music into musical theater, my other great love. At first it seemed an odd and exciting pairing was popping up—composers employing folk forms, from rap to banjo tunes, to compel their stories forward. But then I remembered Porgy and Bess, George Gershwin’s great folk opera from 1935, and realized that, like all folk things, this pairing has long come and gone from popularity in waves across time.

I was thinking of all of this during a visit last week to New York City’s Public Theater where I took in the musical Miss You Like Hell with a score composed by roots music shapeshifter/songwriter Erin McKeown.

Roots music, like all art, is about telling stories. In folk music especially, many of those stories tend to be old, even ancient, and are updated, intertwined with contemporary ideas. Consider the deeply mythological ballads of James Child, the 19th Century English folklorist whose collection helped define the “folk revival” of a century later when those songs were reinterpreted and popularized by artists like Fairport Convention.

More recently, these myths were adapted by New York City-based folksinger Anaïs Mitchell on her 2013 recording Child Ballads. The concept of reinterpreting mythology was not new to Mitchell, however. She wrote her own folk opera, Hadestown, based on the ancient Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. She released it as an album in 2010 with collaborators Ani DiFranco, Justin Vernon, and Greg Brown. Originally it was a small community theater piece in Mitchell’s native Vermont; it moved back to the stage after the album was complete, premiering at the New York Theater Workshop in 2016. It is preparing for a Broadway debut next year.

Indeed, more and more musicians who have been influenced by traditional roots music forms have been exploring the way their craft can translate in the theater world. Mitchell’s accomplishment is notable, and MacArthur Grant winner and singer-songwriter Rhiannon Giddens is rumored to be working on a musical theater piece about an 1898 protest and race riot in Wilmington, North Carolina. And then there’s McKeown’s Miss You Like Hell, whose book was written by Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Quiara Alegría Hudes. All three, with their use of quintessentially American music forms, draw easy and obvious comparisons to Hamilton: An American Musical, which tells a centuries-old story of revolution through the modern folk vernacular of various rap styles as well as other truly American music forms like jazz, R&B, and straight-up Broadway numbers.

Its composer Lin Manuel-Miranda grew up listening to Broadway cast albums as he was rapping and writing songs in New York’s Inwood neighborhood. Later, he wrote about the Washington Heights neighborhood using traditional Latinx music forms and hip-hop for In the Heights (on which he collaborated with Hudes), then won a Tony Award for it. Hamilton followed a few years later, incidentally also making its debut downtown at the Public Theater.

 

From ‘Miss You Like Hell.” Photo: Joan Marcus

The Public is an institution in the East Village, having been founded in 1954 by the Shakespeare Workshop (Shakespeare, it’s worth noting, also repurposed several old folk tales and images). The physical location opened 20 years later with the debut of Hair, which employed the language of the common people to tell a modern story. Hair is now celebrating a half-century on Broadway, with a musical score that includes songs one could easily imagine being covered by rootsy pop bands like the Lumineers or The Head and The Heart.

Every “rock opera” from Hamilton to Rent and beyond owes a debt to Hair, which marched into the Village 51 years ago in a swirl of sex, profanity, and cultural revolution, speaking for people who were desperate to be heard. Before Hair, the American musical was somewhat of a fantasy world, where pretty feminine girls and masculine men (most of them white) sang at each other about how they planned to navigate their traditional binary gender roles, with a tap number thrown in here and there for good measure. There were exceptions, of course, but Hair shoved the musical theater world in daring new directions. It grappled with war and peace, tradition and revolution, coming of age through sex, drugs, nudity, and free love. Was this generation going to toe the line or was it going to upset the balance through protest and radical peace? Suddenly these questions were fodder for the musical theater, a fact which deliberately made some uncomfortable.

That dramatic discomfort was also present in the quietest, tensest moments of Miss You Like Hell. The story is based on The Odyssey, as a mother (Beatriz) and daughter (Olivia) make their way from Philadelphia to Los Angeles over the course of seven days. Beatriz was a recent Mexican immigrant when she met Olivia’s white American father, fell in love, and had a child. Life happened, and years passed as Beatriz tried navigating the complex immigration system. Her relationship with Olivia’s father broke up and a custody battle ensued. Terrified of deportation, Beatriz bailed to avoid the courtroom while Olivia, unaware of her mother’s status, was left to believe Beatriz just didn’t care enough.

Now broken and depressed, Olivia writes in her blog with cries for help and contemplation of suicide. Heartsick for her daughter, Beatriz reads Olivia’s posts, borrows a neighbor’s truck, and drives to Philly to be a mother to her daughter. On their road trip back to LA for Beatriz’s immigration hearing, the pair comes to realize the truth of their stories, clawing through layers of digital addiction, depression, mother-daughter issues, and Beatriz’s realistic and desperate fear of ICE.

 

Gizel Jiménez and Daphne Rubin-Vega in ‘Miss You Like Hell.’ Photo by Joan Marcus

It’s intense, yet made exquisitely human by Daphne Rubin-Vega, who played Mimi in the original cast of Rent, and Gizel Jiménez, who has portrayed Vanessa in In the Heights and Eurydice in Hadestown.

McKeown’s rootsy score moves things along, if not always as smoothly as other comparable musicals of recent years. Rubin-Vega and Jimenez’s voices are beautiful, well-oiled machines, ready for all the roots styles McKeown throws at them. But, as The New York Times also noted, the songs don’t “do the heavy work asked of them.”

McKeown is one of roots music’s most gifted songwriters, capable in any subgenre she chooses. She unleashes all of them here, from the Shawn Colvin-like singer-songwriter vibe of “Mothers” to the story song “Tamales,” as well as the groovy R&B-with-finger-snaps vibe of “Yellowstone,” and a tip of the hat to John Prine and Iris DeMent with “My Bell’s Been Rung.” Though each is well-composed and well-sung, and some are reprised in the second half, what’s missing is a unifying force that metamorphoses them from just a group of songs to a musical theater piece.

The show still managed to tug at my emotional core, hard—perhaps the recent ICE raids back home in Asheville (as everywhere) or the omnipresence of opinion on immigration policy on Twitter have something to do with that—but I left Miss You Like Hell wanting that one song that pulled it all together, as “Seasons of Love” does in Rent.

As I walked away from the Public through the late-night bustle of East Villagers just gearing up for their Friday night out, I thought about the delicate nature of creating art. How one misplaced note or phrase in a song can change everything; how one missing song can make a musical fall short. That doesn’t mean what’s there is subpar, only that the work needs more time and space to grow into a final musical thesis statement.

It’s something all creators know well, something we interviewers always ask: “How do you know a piece is done?” You just know. That’s the only answer. Miss You Like Hell didn’t feel done, but I hope they find that one song, that one scene. Because the heart of this show—this manifestation of roots music and storytelling, this human story of the way love and family are impacted by public policy—is something we need to see and hear right now.


Lede image: Gizel Jiménez and Daphne Rubin-Vega in ‘Miss You Like Hell.’ Photo by Joan Marcus

Where Everything’s Connected: A Conversation with Penny and Sparrow

Sitting in a Philadelphia hotel room, Andy Baxter and Kyle Jahnke debate their options for lunch. The restaurant needs to be special, because the guys have reason to celebrate. The night before, Penny & Sparrow headlined World Café Live, a hip, roomy venue run by the city’s NPR affiliate. For a duo whose first Philly show — a bar gig somewhere out in Manayunk with seven people in attendance — was only three years ago, Penny & Sparrow have come a long way in a short time. Their rapid climb to headliner status is worthy of commemoration. At the very least, it’s worthy of a killer cheesesteak.

So you’re looking to grab some lunch. When you’re touring through a new town, is it important to eat and shop locally?

Andy Baxter: I look for similar things in most cities we visit — used book stores, comic stores, liquor stores. Those are the things I collect on the road. I have a few wells I always go back to in certain cities, too. I’m looking forward to Ann Arbor, because Vault of Midnight is my favorite comic store in the world.

Which aisle in the liquor store is your favorite?

Kyle Jahnke: We like bourbon. People bring us bourbon at our shows, too.

AB: We started collecting bourbon a few years ago. We usually get a bottle in the green room, and we’ll storehouse it for the entire tour. Then we do a draft at the end of every tour, where we each pick our favorite bottles and take them home. It’s awesome. I’m not gonna lie to you: I’ve replenished my bunker at home many times.

Where did that personal connection with your fans begin?

KJ: For whatever reason, the house show community builds a bed of coals for fans who will travel to come see you. There’s a connectivity there. It’s a really cool environment. We played a lot of those shows at the beginning, when venues weren’t ready to book us. We still play those shows on occasion.

Is that where you began introducing stage banter into your sets? These days, that’s a big part of your show.

AB: It probably started at the house shows, although adding it to our performances wasn’t a concerted thing. Since we want to engage with folks on and off stage, it feels normal to react with the crowd, regardless of how big it is. I love when people talk back. We feed off that interaction as much as we can.

Does the jokes ever fall flat?

KJ: The first time through town, it’s interesting for the crowd. Our songs are pretty weighty, and our banter is not. I think that throws people for a spin. Once they catch the overall pattern of the show, and they realize we’re trying to let people come up for air between heavy songs, they start reacting with us.

How many people are on the road with you these days?

KJ: We’ve got a tour manager who’s a good friend of ours, but we don’t have a front-of-house guy. Especially now that we’re playing bigger rooms, most of the sound guys are really great, and we only have a total of four inputs. It’s not a complex thing. We usually become best friends with the sound engineers, because we only have four channels. They like that.

AB: They’re like, “Oh, thank God. Vocals and an acoustic guitar? This is easy.”

Without drums or electric guitars, you can really hear the natural sound of every place you play, too.

KJ: Definitely. We’ve played all sorts of rooms on this tour. Some are built for acts like us. We show up and get to hear the natural reverb of the space we’re in. Sometimes, you’re playing these boxes that you need to orchestrate and synthetically make it sound the way it needs to. Each one is different.

Before you were headlining your own shows, would you ever find yourselves playing a show with a band that wasn’t nearly as nuanced or quiet as Penny & Sparrow?

KJ: At the beginning of our career, we’d play with local bands. Sometimes it would be in a metal venue, playing with metal bands. That was both bar jarring and very amazing. We got paired once with a world instruments band, too, and there were about 50 instruments onstage.

AB: There was a hammer dulcimer, a rain stick, and a didgeridoo. Like Kyle said, the best pairings are always the metal shows. You’ve got two different groups showing up, and they both tend to like it. We’re the palette cleanser for their group, maybe. We’re happy to be the sherbet for them. We’re just a homemade cucumber water.

Speaking of palette cleaners … are there any non-musical activities that help you clear the noise from your head and make room for new songwriting ideas?

AB: Reading. Just taking in a whole bunch of different voices from other wordsmiths. I love podcasts. I love The Moth. I love audiobooks and short stories. You’re learning different peoples’ word banks and vocabularies. And Kyle’s activity is probably baking.

KJ: No, mine is just being outside or doing non-music things.

 

What led to the creation of your newest album, Wendigo?

AB: We originally started writing this album, thinking we might do a musical of sorts. A dark-themed concert album like Redheaded Stranger, but all from the perspective of Death, like the grim reaper singing the songs. We started doing that and, at the end of the writing, some parts didn’t fit, so we began writing new songs that were inspired by fear. We wanted to figure out if stuff we’re scared of is actually worthy of that fright. I really like comic books and horror stories, so I’m familiar with ideas like the boogeyman and the Loch Ness monster. It’s like immersion therapy. Sometimes, when you a shine a light directly at something that frightens you, you can de-fang it.

We live in a scary world right now. Do you see any political parallels with your songs? Were you writing about the monsters who rule us?

AB: I won’t say that we don’t exist in a scary time right now — that would be really silly — but I’ll also admit that most of these lyrics were written long before the campaign trail was in full hatred mode. It would be disingenuous to say the album was, in any way, inspired by political ramifications. But looking at 2016 and 2017 through the lens of what we’d written was a really eerie thing. The album is all about looking at things that you’re scared of … and now we’re realizing all those things have been doused in gasoline and set on fire.

 

Your band is often compared to the Civil Wars. You worked with John Paul White on Penny & Sparrow’s previous album, which must’ve been inspiring.

KJ: We worked pretty closely with John, starting with the songwriting and moving on to everything else. We’d take him some songs we really loved, and he’d helped mold them. We co-wrote songs from the very beginning with him, too. He was producing it, and he helped us make every musical step along the way.

I see some similarities in the way Kyle and John Paul play the acoustic guitar, too. It’s a very specific thing, being the main instrumentalist in a folk duo.

KJ: He was a huge influence on the way I was playing guitar, every before I met him. Meeting him and learning techniques and seeing how he played, that just increased his influence. I love the rhythm he puts into a guitar. And before they stopped playing together, I spent a lot of time studying how he and Joy [Williams] interacted as a duo onstage, because it takes a lot for two people to fill a room with nothing else than a guitar and two voices.

Let’s get back to that whole “we wanted to write a musical” thing. Is that something you’ll continue pursuing?

AB: I loved musicals growing up, and I still love them now. Thanks to the Internet, I can now see a bootleg version of Hamilton. Years ago, if you couldn’t get to New York to see a Broadway show, you had to watch the Tonys. Kyle loves Broadway, too, and we both particularly love the narrative of Les Mis. Years ago, we started out writing songs from Valjean’s perspective, then we decided to have one thread that ties every record we do together, which is choosing a different character from that show and writing a song from their perspective. We’ll keep dong that until we run out of characters. We’ve dabbled in the idea of doing a musical for a long time now.

KJ: We love the idea of connecting a story and a song. One day, I’d love to go back to the idea and trying to do something similar to it, where everything’s connected and it has a central theme. We just love writing songs, period. We just really like our job. That’s what it comes down to.

Bright Star Does Right by Bluegrass on Broadway

Broadway, lately, has been kind to the chorus it never saw coming, to adventurous works that look beyond traditional theater tropes and highly trained vibratos for a hook that lasts long after that curtain goes up. Hamilton, Lin-Manuel Miranda’s revolutionary hip-hop musical sensation, is the poster child of this: With its explosive performances and Roots-produced, Grammy award-winning soundtrack, it set a new standard for what the modern musical could do in terms of reconnecting theater with popular culture and keeping that life line intact. Waitress, the new musical based on the 2007 film starring Keri Russell, holds that pop connection close, as its music and lyrics were penned by Sara Bareilles of “Love Song” fame.

While shows like Les Misérables, Wicked, and The Lion King continue to draw crowds to their respective spots in Times Square every night, Broadway’s audiences are clearly clamoring for the current hits whose soundtracks make for seamless additions to their Recently Played iTunes playlist. They want an experience that banks on the music before the drama — and that’s how Bright Star gives its audience what it’s looking for.

Bright Star, the musical collaboration of Steve Martin and singer/songwriter Edie Brickell, brings Americana into this conversation. Set in the hilly sprawl of North Carolina in the wake of World War II, its story follows Billy Cane, a newly anointed veteran who’s trying to find his voice as a writer having just returned from the battlefield. Shortly after he makes his way home, he’s off again, heading to Asheville in the hopes of securing a byline at the Asheville Southern Journal. Alice Murphy — the paper’s tough, terse, and hawk-eyed editor — reads one of Billy’s stories and pays him for his work, but doesn’t publish it: She offers Billy the opportunity to pitch her ideas until one sticks, and he spends the majority of Bright Star working toward that goal. Through flashbacks, we learn more about Alice — where she came from, the loves and losses that shaped the bubbly teenager who somehow turns into the stern woman Billy meets at the Journal — and that her life’s story syncs up with Billy’s in a way that neither one of them sees coming.

While the plot of Bright Star bounces between the aspirational journey of Billy’s and Alice’s painful trip down memory lane, the music is what lays a firm foundation for the folklore. With down-home arrangements, plenty of opportunities for its singers to showcase their ability to belt the hell out of a long-held high note, and the steely twang of the bluegrass band onstage throughout the program, the music of Bright Star is the anchoring force of the production — the backbone that keeps the decidedly PG storylines from broaching cheesy, try-hard territory in a venue that’s more than susceptible to that kind of family-friendly fun. This isn’t "Bluegrass by Disney" or anything, either: The arrangements are tight, the vocal lines are tough, and the accents steer clear of caricature territory (for the most part). By treating the band as a living, breathing set piece — and keeping them visible and active throughout the performance — Bright Star makes the importance of the music known, sending the not-so-subliminal message that the pickers and players backing the actors are just as pivotal to the story as Alice and Bobby are themselves. Carmen Cusack, as Alice, can summon hope and warmth (“Sun Is Gonna Shine”) as effortlessly as she can channel grief and despair (“Please, Don’t Take Him”), and the bright banjo riffs and sad bass lows do so in kind.

Bright Star may not break new ground, as far as its story goes, and the music, while lovely, isn’t especially earth-shattering, though it’s great to see an acoustic guitar and mandolin treated so venerably on the Great White Way. But like Hamilton, Waitress, and other musicals that have audiences rethinking the role popular music has to play in storytelling, Bright Star succeeds in working music — in this case, of a folkier, bluegrass ilk — into its fabric while pushing boundaries and expectations for both the genre and the artform. Broadway’s finally down with beats and poppy hooks. It’s about damn time it picked up the banjo, too.